


And if I'm gone tomorrow

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, British Grantaire, French Enjolras, Friendship/Love, He has an adorable French accent!, I have a weakness for Parnasse, Idiots in Love, Just wait and see!, M/M, Pining, Romance, Set in London, and I can't write tags, because there's always pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“These people with their "zis" and "zat" and "‘ow do I get zere". Run around like they own a country they don’t even like. Why does anyone even go to a country they don’t like?”</em><br/><em>Jehan and Feuilly shared an amused look and the taller man rolled his eyes while the poet patted Grantaire’s arm softly.</em><br/><em>It was nothing new to hear the artist complaining about all the tourists in the city and especially about the visitors from France. </em><br/><br/>Grantaire is British and he doesn't like French people. But then he meets a gorgeous exchange student from France and has to overthink his oppinions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> So… I was in London some months ago and I had an idea when I walked around like the cliché tourist with camera and map and then I started talking to a French guy in a café who had blonde locks and the most gorgeous accent (even though I actually love the British accent the most) and so this happened. I had enough time to write on the bus ride back home. That’s why it’s so long… I hope you don’t fell offended by the characterization of the tourists, don’t be mad at me ;) I’m German myself and I know how we can be when we’re somewhere on holiday.  
> Sorry for all the mistakes, English is not my first language.  
> Enjoy <3

 

***

 

“God, I hate tourists.”

“You hate everyone R,” Jehan said with a small smile on his lips.

The other man huffed still staring angrily at the door where the elderly couple disappeared with cameras around their necks and the map the wrong way round in their hands. “No, I don’t,” he protested half-hearted, “I just hate people who refuse to learn at least the necessary phrases in the language of the country they visit. And I hate people who think it’s a good idea to ask for the way to the Tower in a fucking soup kitchen.”

“Maybe they thought it’s a restaurant.”

“I don’t think restaurants look like this anywhere.”

The smaller red-haired man shrugged and shook his head, the smile didn’t faint, “You’ve never been to France darling.”  
“And I never will. I don’t want to visit this country of frog eaters anyway.”

“Do I hear racism here?” Feuilly asked with a huge grin as he came in with three water crates at once and Grantaire huffed again and went on muttering under his breath. “These people with their _zis_ and _zat_ and _‘ow do I get zere_. Run around like they own a country they don’t even like. Why does anyone even go to a country they don’t like?”

Jehan and Feuilly shared an amused look and the taller man rolled his eyes while the poet patted Grantaire’s arm softly.

It was nothing new to hear the artist complaining about all the tourists in the city and especially about the visitors from France.

 

Grantaire loved London dearly.

 

He loved the old houses with colourful doors and the small pubs with overcrowded flowerpots hanging in front of the windows and the street lamps and the combination of old and new buildings.

But there was one point he hated.

Everyone else loved the city as well and that was the reason why to every time of the year the streets were full of tourists and souvenir shops at every corner and people blocking the escalators because they just didn’t get it to stand on the right sight but hell, what was so difficult about that? He didn’t like all those Asians who spent tones of money for clothes and lamps and other stuff they could buy at home as well and let the cameras overtake the function of eyes. He didn’t like the Germans who demanded the highest standards even though they were stingy as heck. He didn’t like the Americans who looked at him like _he_ was the foreigner because they didn’t understand his heavy British accent. And he didn’t like the French expecting they would be courted like kings and spoke English only in the rarest cases and when they did it sounded more like singing than talking with this bloody melodic accent because they didn’t even tried something else. Everyone he heard someone leaving out an h he felt the urge to punch them in the face. Hard. God, he was English. It was natural to feel this way.

Or maybe Grantaire just didn’t understood the tourists because he had spend his entire life in London except for some trips to the seaside or visits at his grandparents in Northampton. 

He didn’t need more because London had everything he could wish for.

Maybe he sometimes just got a little bit protective when hordes of people invaded his city and reduced it on pictures they took with their high-tech cameras for being able to say to their friends at home, “Look at the resolution, I bought an extra lens!” instead of, “Do you see how the flowers match the colours of the curtains in the window?” or “Look at this woman who wears a petticoat skirt, a college jacket and Doc Martens in the same red as the double deckes and how she doesn’t even care that she looks absolutely crazy?”

People from other countries had hardly enough time to see behind the postcard motives and discover the actual heart of the city and Grantaire couldn’t help but feel angry about it from time to time. Then he remembered that it was just the human nature to be shallow and hectic and he couldn’t change anything anyway.

He helped in the soup kitchen because he wanted to do at least something good for the people who were close to the edge not because he was some desperate idealist thinking he could actually achieve something bigger.

 

People didn’t care. It was a matter of fact.

 

But at least he could see the brightening eyes of a hungry man when he handed him a bowl with hot stew that made the life a little bit better for a moment.

Jehan and Feuilly, his two best friends, still honestly believed in the good of mankind and it was somehow charming and naïve at the same time. They had stopped arguing about it with Grantaire because he didn’t want to change their mind and they couldn’t change his. But every week he joined them at least once to help out.

Feuilly spend most of his free time in the kitchen and cooked and helped where he could when he wasn’t too tired from his other jobs and done with the work he had to do for his studies. He had taken some art courses at first where Grantaire had met him but now he decided to get a law degree and wanted to specialise on child protection. Jehan studied English and there were some weeks when Grantaire wondered if there weren’t any lectures at all or Jehan just didn’t attend them. However he had somehow overtaken parts of the organisation to help the Valjean, the supporter of the facility who donated a lot of his money to do good for those who needed it the most. He and his daughter Cosette were the only French people Grantaire liked maybe because it was just impossible to not like them, especially Cosette with her big blue eyes and sweet pastel dresses and fighting spirit that could keep up with every idealist he had ever met, and maybe as well because the old man and his daughter had lived in London for a long time already.

He was okay with that.

 

They were just preparing for the evening rush of people by collecting plates and cuttlery beforehand as suddenly the door opened. Marius, a slightly awkward law student and additionally Cosette’s fiancé had started the new semester with the flu because of the rain that steadily fell from the sky and had called in sick today so they had to try to manage everything with just the three of them.

 

Grantaire looked up and almost dropped the plate he was holding because goddamn, that _certainly wasn’t_ a homeless looking for something too eat before the night.

 

The new arrival was a young man and he _certainly was_ the most beautiful human being he had ever seen in his life if he even was a human because with his blonde, or actually _golden_ curls, bright blue eyes, long and slender limps and a face like an antic marble statue he looked more like an angel than anything else.

“Excuse me, I’m supposed to…,” he started with a melodic and clear voice and an accent that Grantaire knew far, far too well until Jehan who had peeked his head out of the kitchen interrupted him cheerfully.

“Oh, you must be Enjolras. It’s so nice to meet you,” he crossed the distance and pulled the tall man into a hug which was returned a little bit too late and awkward but the poet didn’t care. He shoved him towards Feuilly and Grantaire who was still very aware of the fact that he was starring. Starring at those collar bones that he had a great view on because of the two opened buttons of the white shirt under the red trench coat.

He was going to wonder about this one  later.

At first he tried to tear his gaze away and listen to Jehan’s introduction.

“Guys, this is Enjolras, he’s Cosette’s cousin from France” – the traitor looked pointedly at Grantaire – “He’s here for a semester abroad and wants to spend his spare time doing something useful and Cosette told him we would be glad to have him here. That’s right, isn’t it?” He smiled like a chest shire cat.  
Feuilly was thoughtful enough to take the other man’s hand and shake it with a grin. “Of course, we’re always happy to welcome someone who wants o help, right R?” He kicked him in the shin and Grantaire nodded cracking a smile. “I’m Feuilly by he way.”

After he had let go of his hand the blonde man reached it out to Grantaire probably to prevent another hug and arched a perfect eyebrow that wasn’t as light a the rest of his hair, darker, more like a shiny brown and right, he was supposed to shake his hand.

“Grantaire,” he managed to get out and realized he never introduced himself with his full name because he didn’t like it, it was too French and why did he do that? “But call me R,” he added quickly.

The smile that appeared on Enjolras face had his legs turned to jelly because these lips were probably just as perfect as the rest of his face. “Great pun,” he said and god, that smile.

 

Oh right, he was supposed to let go of his hand.

 

He looked at Jehan who seemed to feel far too good about himself and dragged Enjolras by the elbow towards the kitchen cheerfully talking nineteen to a dozen, “Come along darling, I show you around. Back here we have the kitchen…,” and they disappeared around the corner.

Grantaire breathed out and sat down on the closest chair letting his head fall down on the table top. As he looked up he saw Feuilly suppressing a grin not very successfully.

Grantaire buried his face in his hands. “Did only Jehan know about him?”

The other man chuckled. “No.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah. You don’t.”

He couldn’t even deny it.

He felt a teasing poke in the side, “He’s pretty, huh?”

Grantaire huffed. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“But well, there’s still the weird accent,”

“It’s fucking gorgeous,” he choked out and oh my god, had he really just said that? “I’m so fucked, right?”

Feuilly broke out into laughter and Grantaire let his head fall back on the table.

 

Damn.

 

***

 

The evening hadn’t been that bad.

Grantaire had spilled soup only two times as he couldn’t stop staring at Enjolras – and honestly even the name was _so_ French – who walked around, helping Jehan and Feuilly like he had never done anything else with a grace in his steps like a ballet dancer and kindness in his blue eyes that never looked down on anybody with pity but with condolence instead.

He had also only dropped one plate (and almost another one) as the blonde man suddenly appeared next to him.

 

They were almost done with cleaning up, it was already late and Feuilly had left earlier because he was needed at work in the morning, as Jehan grabbed his jute bag and turned to leave. “R, could you close up today with Enjolras? I have to go.”  
“It’s in the middle of the night Jehan? Where do you have to be?”

“Don’t you know? I have that thing.”

“What thing?” He did his best not to sound terrified because Jehan couldn’t leave, he wouldn’t know what to do or what to say or how to breathe.

The poet shrugged and winked, “I’m a poet and inspiration doesn’t ask if it’s day or night.”

With that he kissed him on the cheek and Enjolras as well who seemed to have remembered his french manners already.

Grantaire took a deep breath and turned to the other man who placed the plates back into the old cupboards in the empty and silent kitchen.

“You can go as well, you know,” he said casually, “it’s been your first day, I can do the rest.”

Blue eyes looked at him and what a wonderful blue it was. Bright and fierce. Blue like the sky.

“It’s alright, I’m used to it.”

God, the way he rolled the r should be illegal. It was a fucking French accent, it shouldn’t be that attractive. But with this voice everything would probably sound like the music of angels.

He swallowed hard and thought of something he could say to try to uphold some kind of conversation because silence would be even worse.

“So, you did something like this before?”

 

Creative, very creative.

 

Enjolras went on sorting cutlery but answered, “I helped out in some shelters in Paris,” he pronounced Paris in French, “it feels good to do the same here.”

Grantaire knew he had given up.

Who needed h’s anywhere.

“And what are you studying?”

“Political science.”

He snorted. Of fucking course.

The blonde man screwed up his nose “What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing, I just get the red coat now,” he shrugged because it was so damn obvious, “So you’re one of these people who try to change the world?”

“It sounds ridiculous the way you say it.”

Grantaire didn’t mention that the actual ridiculous thing was how Enjolras pronounced ridiculous because he could already see the indignation rising in his eyes.

“So you don’t even deny it?”

They were done with the work and Grantaire fished the keys from the table.

“Of course not,” he answered as they made their way to the door, “I firmly believe that there is the possibility to change something in the world by doing good things. People just have to…,” he stopped and frowned as he tried to think of the right word, “You know, someone has to draw the attention to the circumstances that so many people have to live with so they see all the wrong that’s done. But until things change we mustn’t forget to help the ones who can’t help themselves.”

“You really believe what you’re saying, aren’t you?” Grantaire asked in disbelieve because he knew Feuilly and Jehan and Marius, Cosette and her father who all were idealists and people who cared, good people,  and did whatever they could to help but none of them had ever spoken with so much deep conviction in simple words.

“I do,” he answered with a firm nod, “or I wouldn’t say it.”

He couldn’t help but staring at the other man again, a straight and tall figure in the light of the street lamp, the golden curls illuminated by the light and how could he even be real?

“How can you even be real?”  
“What?”

“I mean you’re like two hundred years to late to fit in this time. To think the way you do is hopeless in our modern age. People don’t care and they won’t change anymore.”

Enjolras returned his gaze firmly. “Maybe you should ask yourself what you are doing here if you think like that.”

He didn’t know what to answer at that.

He reached out his hand and Grantaire took it without thinking a second longer than necessary this time.

“Good night Grantaire.”

“Good night Enjolras,” he answered and somehow he managed it to crack a smile.

 

That was how he ended up standing on the pavement in the middle of the night staring at the back of the man who walked away with hands in the pocket of his red trench coat, curls moving up and down to the rhythm of his steps and it left him wondering if maybe he stayed because he wanted didn’t wanted to think like this.

  
Maybe, just maybe he wanted to believe as well.

 

 

***

 

 

In the following weeks Grantaire didn’t knew if it had been better when Jehan or Feuilly would have told him that he was going to spent at least two evenings a week with a French exchange student. He could have build up layer of reluctance beforehand that would have prevented him from falling for Enjolras more and more every time.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was beautiful like no one else he had ever seen and his sketchbooks started to fill with portraits and sketches of a greek god.

It was more. It was the way he talked to everyone about anything and everything, how he was always serious and only sometimes small smiles appeared on his face when some of the old men told him abut the good old times or when a child slept in on the table. It was the way they argued when Grantaire couldn’t help but being the sarcastic and cynic person he was used to be and how Enjolras frowned and how his eyes were filled with passion and fire or how he got angry at himself when he didn’t know a word and had to stop in the middle of a speech.

He didn’t know what he could do about it because he knew for certain that it was never going to end well.  
Enjolras was going to leave again and forget the pessimistic art student who always antagonized him sooner or later.

Probably very soon.

But Grantaire was sure he wouldn’t be able to do the same.

He was always going to feel like a hypocrite when he heard someone with a French accent in the underground and grimaced because he couldn’t help but smile when he thought of the blonde man talking, rolling his the r’s and not being able to pronounce a word with a th how it should sound.

He was always going to remember Enjolras face and end up paining it, on canvases, on napkins, on everything because it was pure perfection. One of his professors had seen on of his sketches, only a rough draft with pencil and had congratulated him on finding his muse.

And so it happened that every time Grantaire saw Enjolras he could only think of him leaving again.

 

 

***

 

 

“Enjolras?”

Grantaire sat next to Gavroche, a young boy who sometimes turned up at the soup kitchen and then disappeared for weeks but always came back fresh as a daisy. The twelve year old called for the man through the room and Grantaire stiffed next to him. He had given Gavroche some paper and a pencil because the boy loved to draw and it made Grantaire happy to see him having just a little bit of fun.

Enjolras crossed the room with a questioning expression on his face. “What’s up Gavroche?”

“What does the Eiffel tower looks like?”

His expression changed to slightly amused a he sat down at the other side of the boy.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Everyone’s always talking about it.”

The blonde man chuckled and every time he did Grantaire wanted him to never stop. “Her.”

Gavroche frowned, “Her?”

“We call her _la dame de Fer_ ,” he explained with a gentle smile, “The Iron Lady.”

“So you have an Iron Lady in France too!”

“Yes but only that our will be their as long as Paris stands. If she falls the city wouldn’t be the same anymore.”

He pulled his walled out of his pocket to hand Gavroche a photography of the Eiffel tower in warm summer light.

“You really have a picture of the Eiffel tower in your wallet?” Grantaire asked and Enjolras shrugged with a smile, “You’re such a cliché.”

“You have no idea.”

Grantaire swallowed because god damn, it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t keep his thoughts from turning in certain directions.

“Who’s that on the other photos?”

“What other…,” Enjolras started then he saw his wallet in Gavroche’s hand who was grinning smugly.

He sighed, “Would you give me back my wallet?”

“Only if you tell me about them.”

 

The first photo showed two young men sitting in a library on a table overcrowded with books and empty coffee cups who still didn’t look like they were actually working. One was tall and slender with green eyes and black hair sticking into every direction and a broad grin on his face. The other one was smaller and rolled his warm brown eyes behind the big black glasses with a smile. His hair was curly and strawberry blond and he was seriously wearing a slipover. Well, the other one wore a bowtie; it wasn’t easy to decide what was weirder.

“They are my roommates.”

Gavroche pointed at the one with the glasses. “He looks like and owl,” he stated and Enjolras chuckled. “Well, it fits. He’s the wisest man I know.”

“But he looks so young!”

“He is, but still it’s true. His name is Combeferre,” he said and the gentle expression in his face was like a pang of envy in Grantaire’s chest and made him feel terrible. “He always tells me I’m too hot-tempered and ehm…,” he searched for a word, “Touchy.”

Gavroche grinned and Grantaire did his best to leave this uncommented.

“And what would he say?” the boy asked and pointed at the other man.

Enjolras laughed and it sounded like the ringing of clear bells, “Courfeyrac would say I am working too much and should start to frequent pubs.”

This time Grantaire said, “They seem to know you very well.”

“They do. Better than anyone else I guess. We’ve known each other since ehm… l'école élémentaire…primary school as you would say in English.”

 

“Who’s that?” Gavroche held up the next photo.

It was a picture of a man sleeping on a red couch, legs hanging over the armrest, in his hand an empty wine bottle. His head rested on a big pillow. He wore black jeans, leather boots – well one leather boot, the other one was no where to be seen – and a shirt with rolled up sleeves exposing his tattooed arms yet his expression was gentle.

“That’s Bahorel,” Enjolras explained, “You can’t take a photo of him when he’s awake or he would punch you in the face.”

“Likable,” Grantaire commented but he didn’t made it sound ironic.

 

Looking at the last picture Enjolras pointed out, “Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet.” A young woman with almond-shaped eyes in a not nameable colour had her tanned arms slung around two men, one with shaggy brown hair who screwed up his nose but smiled, the other one bald, with darker skin and a grin that reached up to his dark brown eyes.

 

“Musichetta is a great name,” Gavroche commented and then asked, “Do you miss them?”

“Of course I miss them,” Enjolras answered, “I miss them and I miss Paris but I am still glad to be here.”

“Do you like London?”

“I actually haven’t seen a lot of it,” he said apologetically, “but it is very different from anything I have seen before.”

Gavroche frowned again, “But you must have been here since two month or so.”

One month and twenty-four days, Grantaire thought but asked mockingly, “And you haven’t done a proper sightseeing tour yet?”

Enjolras grimaced. “Well of course I could run around with a camera and take pictures but it is like in Paris. It isn’t just le Tour Eiffel, Sacre Coeur and Le Louvre, it is much more when you know where to go. And I just don’t have the time to walk round and hope to stumble over the actual city.”

 

Once again Grantaire found himself falling a little bit more for the fierce blonde man who could never be just one of a million tourists.

 

Gavroche looked back and forth between the two man and Grantaire was far to occupied with looking into Enjolras’ blue eyes to notice the understanding smile on the boy’s face to stop him from saying casually, “R would know where to go. I guess he could show you, right R?”

This little bastard.  
Enjolras looked back at him, hopeful this time. “Would you do that?”

This wasn’t a good idea, this was a horrible idea, a stupid, destructive idea that couldn’t end well under any circumstances.

  
“Yeah, why not,” Grantaire said with a shrug.

 

“Great!” Gavroche exclaimed and his smile widened in a triumphant grin, “When are you to free?”

 

Damn him.

 

 

***

 

 

“I can’t belive a ten year old boy has better matchmaking skills than I have,” Jehan said shaking his head and patting Grantaire’s back.

“This isn’t helping.”

He might sound a little bit hysterically but he was meeting Enjolras – he refused to call it a date that had been set up by a little twat who could be more manipulating than any coca-cola advertisement. It wasn’t a date so he certainly wasn’t freaking out.

“So, what do you want to wear?” the poet asked.

“Why would I care about what to wear, it isn’t a date Jehan, is it? I mean it certainly isn’t right? Oh my god, what if it is one and I…”

“Oh bloody hell,” Feuilly exclaimed. He was sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room of the apartment Grantaire shared with Jehan. “Do you know that you behave like a sixteen year old teenage girl, R?”

Jehan threw him a scolding look while Grantaire only mumbled, “That isn’t very helpful either!”

“Here, wear this one,” Jehan said and handed him a dark green button-up shirt, “It makes your eyes shine.”

As he dressed up the poet looked up and down on him with folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

“What do you think?” Grantaire carefully and Jehan only said, “We need to do something about your hair.”

 

Feuilly let his head fell against the backrest.

“I don’t want to be here anymore!”

 

***

 

They didn’t manage to get anything done with Grantaire’s hair because it just didn’t wanted to be put into something even close to a proper hairstyle. Instead the unruly black curls were sticking wildly in every direction and Jehan had eventually given up in frustration.

Grantaire didn’t really care – in theory – because it wasn’t as if Enjolras would care how he looked like. He would probably look like a greek god even in potato sack.

And he looked even better than usual as Grantaire picked him up at the apartment where Cosette was still partly living in even though she already moved most of her belonging into the house they’d gotten as a wedding present from her father. She and Marius were going to live there when they came back from the planned honey moon after the wedding that was going to be in about two month.

He looked simply stunning and classy in black – oh god, _skinny_ – jeans, lace-up boots and an opened red button-up over a white shirt and Grantaire felt like a seventh grade who thought baseball caps and Hawaiian shirts were stylish and learned the painful way that they weren’t.

 

“Um, hey,” he chocked out and oh fuck.

This was going to be a disaster.

A humiliating, awkward disaster.

But Enjolras didn’t seem like he planned on fulfilling this vision because he kissed Grantaire on both cheeks and if he hadn’t been used to it – well that was exaggerated – because Enjolras started to fall back in French behaviour when he got to know people better he would have blushed horribly. He still blushed but he hoped it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Hello, so where are we going?” he asked with a sparkle in his eyes and at least he didn’t seem to have changed his mind.

“Easy, it’s not a race, okay?”

“Okay.”

Grantaire laughed because it was just too unrealistic but until now it wasn’t _that_ awkward. And they hadn’t ripped off each others heads so… progression.

“Just so you know we’re not going to take the underground.”

Enjolras nodded, “I never take the metro in Paris.”

“Do you walk all the way?”

“Well," he smiled, "let's say I don’t live that far from university.”

“So you’re one of these students who can see the Eiffel tower from their window?” he teased and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that a lot of students can see the Eiffel tower from their apartment.”

“But you can?”

“Maybe.”

The conversation came easily after that. Grantaire did everything he could to avoid any political topic and Enjolras seemed content with that. They took the bus and he told stories about little pubs and modern houses they passed and in generally Grantaire was the one talking for once until the blonde man admitted, “Back in France I always thought that the red buses were only the ones for the tourists but when I came here they were like everywhere and I thought that their had to be even more tourists than I thought until Cosette explained they were actually liners.”

Grantaire had to suppress his laughter for at least three minutes.

After good half an hour they had arrived at a tall brick house with green shutters and as he rang it took some more minutes until the door opened.

A man with a cigarette in his mouth and dressed all in black, even his hair was black and his eyes had the colour of a very, very dark brown, looked at the arrivals with an arched eyebrow. His gaze lingered on Enjolras for a second before he turned to Grantaire.

He put down the cigarette. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Felt like a good moment to come around,” Grantaire shrugged.

“You’re hair looks awful. You should cut it,” a hint of a smile fluttered over the man’s expression, “Who did you bring along?”

“That’s Enjolras.”

“I can introduce myself,” he protested and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

The man’s eyebrow wandered even higher yet he took Enjolras hand and shook it firmly but without introducing himself. Instead he turned to Grantaire again.

“A Frenchman, R? You’re such a hypocrite. ”

“That’s rich coming from you, Parnasse.”

He just shrugged, took another pull from his cigarette and let them in.

“You know the way,” he said then he disappeared silently like a ghost in the shadows.

Grantaire turned to Enjolras who seemed kind of confused. “Sorry. He’s not a very cordial person.”

“I see.”

“You’re dying to know where I met him, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiled and explained, “Well, we’ve met at my first day at university and he kind of helped me to get around like some grumpy old brother. I know he doesn’t look like a caring person and he’s not much of a good guy but,” he shrugged, “he has a soft core.”

Enjolras didn’t ask more and he was glad about it.

Montparnasse had always been a tricky subject, their relationship and his person in general. It wasn’t easy to explain why he befriended him in the first place because the older man had always been some kind of mystery.

But he wasn’t here to think about Parnasse.

“Nevermind.” He walked up the stairs and waved Enjolras to follow him, “Come along Pond.”

“What?”

“Oh man. And I thought you would at least know the basic pillars of British culture. ”

 

 

***

 

 

“Where are we going?”

“Wait and see, we’re almost there.”

They had arrived at the last floor and Grantaire pushed open an old door into a small flat consisting of only two rooms. In the back was a hatch in a corner of the ceiling and he took the ladder leaning on the wall to climb up and pushed it open.

Then he jumped back down again.

“Do you want to go first?”

“No, no,” Enjolras said and it sounded more like _non_ , “I follow you.”

Something inside Grantaire started to glow given these three words that were probably just quickly said.

He climbed upt he few stairs and out on the roof. There was a stair where next to the skylight where he sat down until Enjolras peeked his head out. Grantaire held out his hand.

“Merci,” he smiled and took the hand so Grantaire could pull him up next to him.

 

Then silence fell.

 

For some moments Grantaire just watched the changing expressions on Enjolras’ face, so pure, so overwhelmingly beautiful. It had rained in the afternoon and the air smelled fresh and soothing. The sound of cars and ships sounded from afar.

 

“Mon dieu.”

 

The view from the rooftop extended over the river bend of the Thames, in the west the Big Ben and the House of Parliament, in the north the dome of St. Paul’s cathedral and the modern skyscrapers and a bit further away in the east the tips of the Tower Bridge behind the crowns of rich green trees. The sun was going down slowly behind Westminster and Grantaire hadn’t even have to consider for a second that Enjolras with his hair glowing golden like a halo in the warm light and blue eyes wide and almost reverent was even more beautiful than the view on the city.

 

“C’est magnifique.”

“Indeed,” Grantaire agreed but they certainly didn’t mean the same thing.

 

 

***

 

 

“That was a nice evening,” Enjolras said as they stood at the bus station because he had refused that Grantaire would cross half of the city in the middle of the night just to bring him home.

“Yeah and we didn’t even rip each other heads of. Not even almost,” he teased.

Enjolras frowned, “I know I can be harsh sometimes Grantaire…”

“It’s alright Apollo, don’t worry. I’m tough.”

“What did you just call me?”

He laughed quietly. Laughing was easier than an explanation.

Enjolras didn’t look satisfied without a proper answer.

The red double decker turned around the corner.

“That’s your bus.”

The blonde man nodded but he didn’t take his eyes of Grantaire. The intense gaze of light blue eyes send a shiver down his spine and his mind shut down because it would only take one step forward to be close enough to kiss  him.

 

As the bus came to stop Grantaire took the step back.

 

He swallowed. “Good night Enjolras.”

Something flickered over the taller man’s face.

“Good night Grantaire,” he said and got on the bus.

He didn’t know how long he stood there after the bus was already out of sight because he couldn’t help the feeling that what he had seen in Enjolras eyes as he flinched had been disappointment.

 

 

***


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The days flew apart quickly and the weeks even quicker and as soon as the wedding of Marius and Cosette had arrived Grantaire’s heart dropped in his chest because it had already been four months and that didn’t mean there was much time left._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just feel like I need to mention that I love drunk Enjolras. And Combeferre. And Courfeyrac. I couldn't write a fic without him. ;)  
> Chapter No. 2, I hope you like it.  
> Sorry for mistakes. And for my horrible French. It's as horrible as my teacher... so yes, forgive me. :D

 

 

***

 

 

In the following weeks it got obvious that something had shifted between them.

They still disagreed, they still argued but Grantaire didn’t offend Enjolras mockingly and Enjolras’ words weren’t that sharp anymore.

As well his English got better and the times he had to stop to search for a word got less but his accent didn’t change that much and Grantaire would never admit it to anyone else again but he still thought it was gorgeous. It was just so _Enjolras_ , so melodic, so different, so _French._

They never talked about the evening they’d spent together over the rooftops of the city and none of them made an attempt to suggest repeating it but it hung over them like an invisible yet warming light.

The days flew apart quickly and the weeks even quicker as soon as the wedding of Marius and Cosette had arrived and Grantaire’s heart dropped in his chest because it had already been four months and that didn’t mean there was much time left.

 

“You look great, you know?” Jehan said as he got in Feuilly’s car in a black suit with a green tie which the poet had chosen – of course.

“Shouldn’t you say that to the bride?”

“Yes, but I say it to you as well.”

He smiled in response. “Come on or we’re going to be late.”

They were almost late because Feuilly’s car had definitely seen better days but they still made it on time to the little church. It was a windy and cloudy day but that didn’t matter because Cosette was shining like the sun as she walked down the aisle with Valjean. Her white dress was simple but beautiful; her golden hair fell down her back with white flowers braided in between soft locks.

 

She looked like an angel and Marius smiled like the luckiest person on the planet who he was this day.

 

 

***

 

 

“Okay, I need more alcohol!”

Jehan pocked Feuilly in the side but handed him another glass of champagne.

Grantaire finally spotted Enjolras in the crowd. He hadn’t seen him during the ceremony because the church had been full of people and as well not during the toast and the dinner but now he spotted him across the hall where the celebration took place and damn, _he needed more alcohol._

 

Suits were cruel, suits were so cruel especially when one of them was worn by Enjolras because it fit perfectly yet his red tie was a little bit loosened and his golden curls sticking into every direction.

He was glad about the distraction as the newly married couple came into the hall and started their first dance. Marius almost tripped over Valjean as he walked up to the dance floor but no one could care less.

It was sweet and heart-warming and perfect.

 

After the dance had ended Valjean took his daughter in his arms and they danced smilingly and slowly other couples joined them.

 

“Dance with me,” Grantaire heard a familiar voice and almost shrieked, his heart felt like it would jump right out of his chest.  
“I didn’t know you dance Apollo,” he said and hopefully he would blame the champagne for his trembling voice even though he had only drunk one glass.

Enjolras giggled, actually _giggled,_ “I’m French.”

“That’s not an excuse for everything.”

He just grinned.

“Wait, are you drunk?”

“I had to toast!”

Grantaire shook his head, laughed and took the offered hand that led him to the dance floor. He didn’t know the song that was playing but he couldn’t bring himself to care because he was dancing with Enjolras and of course he was a great dancer even when he was tipsy – he was probably perfect in everything.

 

They shared a dance and then another and another and it was like a dream of music, steps and champagne with Enjolras close to him.

 

He only woke up because Cosette tipped on his shoulder.

“The bride feels offended because her own cousin hasn’t danced with her yet.”  
“My apologies to the bride,” Grantaire grinned and took a step back even though he did it a little bit hesitantly. He looked out for Jehan and Feuilly but the poet sat in the middle of three old ladies deep in conversation while the other man had obviously hired a personal waiter who was constantly refilling his glass.

He found himself a full glass as well and sat down on a chair apart the crowd with a good view at the dance floor where Enjolras and Cosette were dancing like a blonde Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

“Didn’t know you were into blondes, R,” he suddenly heard a voice next to his ear and as he turned around he looked into the familiar face of a young woman.  
“Éponine!” half of a grin spread over her face and he hugged her firmly, “I didn’t know you were here!”

He hadn’t seen Gavroche’s older sister in a while. She had finally managed it to stand on her own feet. It had been brave to make it alone because she tried to take care of her younger brother as well.

She was wearing a simple black dress that fit more to a funeral than to a wedding but Grantaire didn’t mention it. The young woman’s past with the groom was a delicate matter to put it lightly. Even today her smile still looked a little bit forced but the girl was a fighter.

“Of course not,” she said teasingly, “You were too busy being all lovey-dovey with your Frenchman.”

“It’s not like that.”

God, he knew he was blushing.

Éponine arched an eyebrow, “So you’re not head over heels for blondie?”

Grantaire sighed, “Well, I am but it’s simple. He’s not.”

Her eyebrow wandered higher. “Believe me sweetheart, I know how unrequited love looks like and that guy over there is looking at me so jealously that I would fear for my life if I wouldn’t have a knife in my purse.”

“What?”

He didn’t know which fact he should progress first – that she had a knife in her purse or that Enjolras looked jealous - but then he turned around and saw Enjolras who had stopped dancing just dropping his gaze to the glass in his hand.

Éponine chuckled, “Come on. Leave. I can drink myself to oblivion on my own.”

“You’re perfect and I don’t say that because you have a knife in your purse.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away but this time her laugh sounded real.

 

He crossed the room to join Enjolras.  
“You left your friend,” he stated and pointed at Éponine who raised her glass in their direction.

“Nah, she’ll survive. You looked like you needed help to stand upright.”

“I’m not that drunk!”

“Okay, then try to stand straight for ten seconds.”

Three seconds in he toppled over and Grantaire had to catch him from falling. He dropped the topic after that and actually stopped protesting.

 

Later that night when Cosette and Marius finally excused themselves under a hurricane of applause Grantaire had gotten to know the drunk Enjolras and learned that he was gorgeous and horrible at the same time.

Gorgeous because his accent got even heavier and with every glass of champagne he mixed in more French words and because he started to giggle for inexplicable reasons.

And horrible because drunk Enjolras was very, _very_ cuddly and hugged everyone that came by and tried to tell them about the importance of fair trade in a mixture of French and English.

 

“God, you’re going to have the worst hangover when you wake up,” Grantaire said as the blonde man took another glass champagne.

 “You have to do everything to make the bride _hereux_ and I had to promise Cosette to have fun for once,” answered and drowned it in one go.

“And you kept that promise,” Grantaire assured him and didn’t even gave him the chance to get a new glass, “but you had enough.”

“Mais non, Grantaire…”

“You can’t even form a proper English sentence anymore.”

“Mais oui, I’m French!”

“You better bring him home,” Jehan whispered. The poet himself tried to keep Feuilly from falling asleep, “I take care of this one.”

Both of them hadn’t drunk that much what was not unusual for Jehan but for Grantaire but well, he had been distracted.

He wanted to take Enjolras by the arm but the blonde man immediately slung his arm around his shoulder. He smelt sweet, like alcohol. His tie had somehow vanished and some buttons of his shirt were opened exposing his collarbones.

Grantaire swallowed, “Let’s get you home, Apollo.”

 

They took one of the nightliners back to the apartment and the whole way Enjolras had his head buried in the crook of Grantaire’s neck, blonde curls tingling at his chin and it was goddamn hard to concentrate and don’t miss their stop. It had gotten cold and he was glad he had taken a pullover with him because he had given his suit jacket to Éponine in the middle of the night and it was freaking cold.

It was almost four in the morning when they stood in front of the door.

“Enjolras, where are your keys?”

“Pocket,” he mumbled at his neck.

 

Oh bloody hell.

 

Grantaire reached down to fish the keys out of his pocket and tried to stop every thought in his mind.

“That tickles!” Enjolras laughed and he could feel his breath on his skin and god, he was too sober for this. His cheeks burned and he was so glad that Enjolras was too drunk to notice and would probably have forgotten everything when he woke up. Grantaire knew the flat and guided the blonde towards the guest room. He immediately fell on the bed still fully clothed.

“Oh come one Apollo. You could at least help me a little bit.”

Enjolras giggled, “That sounds rather ambiguous when you say it.”

Grantaire blinked then he fell the urge to bury his head in hands, “God, you’re going to be the dead of me.”

Enjolras peeled of his suit jacket and shoes and lay on the bed like a sleepy kitten. “That would be _trés désolant_. Too bad.” It looked as if he had fallen asleep but when Grantaire quietly walked away he mumbled sleepily, “Where are you going?”

“Ehm…home?”

 

“Stay.”

One simple word said half asleep and slurred yet he stopped dead in his tracks.

 

It was probably just logical. What if he would throw up and choke or anything else, it was just reasonable to stay.

“Okay, well, I’ll take the couch.”

He didn’t really know what else to do because he most certainly couldn’t keep standing in the room watching Enjolras in his sleep like a creepy stalker – even though the prospect of doing it wasn’t that bad.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Enjolras murmured, his eyes still closed and rolled to the side to make space in the bed.

For some seconds Grantaire stood at the door and had no idea what to do because his brain wasn’t functioning properly. Then he slowly took off his hoodie and his shoes and slipped under the blanket.

Immediately Enjolras huddle up against him and was fast asleep within seconds while Grantaire eventually stopped counting the hours he lay awake in the dark.

 

 

***

 

 

He woke up when Enjolras stumbled out of the bed and towards the bathroom. A minute later he came back pale and maybe a little bit green in the face.

“I’m never touching a drop of alcohol ever again,” he said firmly and added, “I have to throw up again,” before he ran away.

Grantaire slung his legs out of the bed, stretched and rearranged his crumbled clothes. It happened far too often that he woke up in the clothes from the day before and it wasn’t a good feeling.

He stood up and went to the kitchen where he turned on the coffee machine. There was no tea. How should he be able to wake up without any tea?

He was British for god’s sake.

Enjolras came back and even totally hungover, with tangled curls and the clothes from the day before he looked more beautiful than anyone else in a healthy state and that was probably a very, very weird thought. But he could always blame his sleepy mind.

“You go back to bed,” Grantaire ordered and showed the blonde man back into his room.

“Did I do something embarrassing?” he asked and looked a little bit uncomfortable what made him shake his head encouragingly. “You couldn’t even if you wanted, Apollo. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you for bringing me home,” he said with a gentle smile that made Grantaire’s heart ache.

“No problem, don’t thank me,” he murmured and turned around to get the coffee.

As he got back Enjolras was already asleep again, half sitting, half lying on the bed so he searched for a thermos bottle, made some simple sandwiches and put everything on the nightstand. He rested the blonde man’s head carefully on his hoodie because he didn’t want to wake him up again to get a pillow.

Then he left quietly to go back home so Jehan wouldn’t worry. And to get some stupid tea that hopefully would bring some order in his confused thoughts.

 

 

***

 

 

They were all on duty at the soup kitchen that evening even though Jehan’s hair was dull in a simple messy braid; Feuilly looked even worse, pale with dark rings under his eyes, answering questions only with one word or snorting noises. Grantaire knew he couldn’t look that great either but he was mostly tired and not hungover so he was at least friendly, well as friendly as always.

Enjolras was already two minutes before too late, so very late for him. As he entered Grantaire’s jaw dropped before he was able to compose himself. Jehan arched an eyebrow and Feuilly laughed for the first time that day.

Grantaire had expected Enjolras to look sick and tired and that he would give him back his hoodie and well, he looked sick and tired and brought back the hoodie but what he hadn’t expected was Enjolras _wearing_ said hoodie that was too big for him and fitted only loosely so that the sleeves were rolled up and the tips of his collarbones were exposed.

 

“Jehan,” Grantaire whispered, “I’m dying.”

The poet smiled innocently, “Would you feel better if you’ll go to the bathroom for a sec?”

He let his head fell on the table.

 

 

***

 

 

Some would say that in the next weeks they got along even better than before but for Grantaire it was a mixture of joy and sheer torture. The accidental touches, the friendly smiles, the arguments ending simply with an eye-roll and Enjolras sighing.

 

Maybe they were getting along as friends but it had been easier to bare when they had fought with sharp words and anger because now they were always around each other and yet he couldn’t have what he wanted and he felt so selfish for even _wanting_ more.

 

Three weeks later Cosette and Marius returned from their honey moon that they’d spent in Paris, Marseille and Venice. They invited Grantaire, Jehan, Feuilly, Éponine and Enjolras to a small house-warming party because they’d finally moved in.

The first thing Feuilly did was putting a bottle of Scotch on the wooden coffee table in the living room. “That you’re married doesn’t mean you’re allowed to throw tea parties like old people now,” he simply said and Cosette just grinned.

Soon they were sitting in the room; Cosette sitting on Marius’ lap telling stories about their travels for example how Marius had almost fallen of a gondola what made him blush like a tomato and Jehan bursting out in giggles.

As the night went on the poet had fallen asleep in a weird position on an armchair, one leg over the backrest and arms somewhere in the air but he was snoring quietly so no one had the heart to wake him up. Feuilly took the bed in the guest room and Éponine excused herself earlier because she had to look after Gavroche. Enjolras sat next to Grantaire on the sofa and his head had already fallen on his shoulder about an hour ago.

He was breathing slowly and even.

“It’s alright,” he whispered to Marius and Cosette who shared a gaze but then she smiled gently and took two blankets from a chest.

“Good night R.”  
“Thanks. Good night you two.”

She took Marius’ and they disappeared upstairs. Grantaire closed his eyes and tried to ignore every thought in his head but as he could feel Enjolras curls tickling his chin the fear of him leaving that he always locked in the depths of his mind made his heart sink.

 

 

***

 

 

He opened his eyes as he smelled coffee. Sunlight shone through the curtains and he tried not to move because Enjolras’ head still rested on his shoulder.

Cosette looked around the corner from the kitchen. “Coffee?”

Grantaire nodded and she went back whistling a sweet melody.

Nodding had been a bad idea because now Enjolras shifted given his movement and opened one blue eye drowsily.

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile down on him.

He wasn’t sure if the next moment actually happened because Enjolras didn’t flinched, he just huddled up closer against him and pressed a soft kiss in the crook of his neck.

 

Grantaire froze.

 

For some seconds nothing happened, he could only hear the beating of his heart loudly in his ears.

 

Then Enjolras jumped up shocked and almost tripped and fell over the blanket, a practically horrified expression on his face.

“Oh my… I’m so sorry. I…”

Cosette came back with a mug of coffee, “Oh Enjolras, you’re awake. Do you want a cup of coffee as well?”

He looked at her and shook his head firmly, “No, no. I just… I should go. Now.” And with that he stormed off. He almost knocked over Marius who came down the stairs in his pyjamas. As the door fell shut with a pang Jehan jumped up from the armchair and immediately tumbled back again. “What the hell was that?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Marius asked confused, “He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.”

“I have no idea,” Cosette answered but her gaze darted to Grantaire who still wasn’t able to say anything or understand _what the hell_ had just happened.

 

 

***

 

 

“R, would you be so kind and wait a second.”

They’d eaten breakfast together and they were just about to leave as Cosette pulled him back in the hallway and held up Enjolras red coat.

“Ehm, Enjolras forgot his coat?” he asked feeling utterly stupid.

“Yes, he did.”  
“Are you not going to bring it back?”

“No,” she said and held the jacket a little bit higher, “ _I_ won’t.”

 

 

***

 

 

It took him until the late afternoon to finally have the guts to take the bus to Cosette’s former apartment and another hour until he eventually knocked.

As he arrived he had met an old lady in the stairwell and as she came back he was still standing in front of the door not able to bring himself to raise his hand. She looked at him pitying and just said, “It can’t be that bad honey.”

And she was right. It couldn’t be that bad because he hadn’t done anything, Enjolras had been the one who accidently kissed him, well not directly but that didn’t matter, it was still hard to believe that and oh, fuck that, he knocked.

 

And immediately regretted it.

 

He could still run away, he could still…

 

The door opened.

“Grantaire?”

“Uhm. Hi.”

Oh shit, this was not how it was supposed to go.

“You…you forgot your coat at Marius and Cosette’s. I was… in the area.”

God, he was a pathetic liar.

Enjolras looked confused – and gorgeous in a big t-shirt and sweatpants – and _nervous_ as he took the red jacket. “Thanks R.”

The awkward silence was just about to spread as a voice called something in French from the living room, “ _Qui est la? Mon dieu! C’est lui! Fais donc voir!”_

“Oh sorry, I didn’t know you had visitors.”

“What? No…”  
“ _Enjy, tu n’oseras pas le chaser!_ ”

Enjolras sighed, “I’m having a skype conversation with my friends,“ he explained and then took a step back, “Do you want to come in?” 

“I don’t want to disturb.”

“You don’t,” he smiled and he just couldn’t deny this smile anything in the world.

He followed him into the living room where the laptop stood on the coffee table.

The two men Grantaire remembered briefly from one of the photos in Enjolras’ wallet were smiling on the screen.

He waved awkwardly.

“Hey…”

The taller one with the black hair grinned broadly. “Hi, you must be Grantaire,” he said with an accent even stronger than Enjolras’, “I’m Courfeyrac, that’s Combeferre. Do you have a pet?”

“Ehm,” – what? – “My roommate has a lizard, does that count?”

 “Do you hear that Ferre, his roommate has a lizard, isn’t that great? What’s its name?”

“Ehm,” – what? – “Sir Arthur.”

 

The man blinked. “Oh...Nice?”

 

The other one laughed. “That’s the weirdest beginning of a conversation I’ve ever had,” he said with a warm voice and to Grantaire’s surprise is English was almost accent free.

“At least I tried to begin a conversation!” the black haired guy – Courfeyrac – complained, “He could have run away, I panicked!”

He had to laugh because this kid was even crazier than the people he usually spent his time with and he spent a lot of time with Jehan.

Courfeyrac just grinned even wider at that.

“Well Grantaire,” Combeferre started, “It’s nice to finally get to know one of the people who take care of Enjolras now we’re not around,” he said with a wink and Courfeyrac added, “Yeah, that’s great, I mean he can be really frightening.”

“It gotten better,” Grantaire found himself smiling back and Enjolras who had sat down next to him on the couch just rolled his eyes.

“Really?” Courfeyrac asked doubtfully but Combeferre answered, “It’s good that someone is around to keep him down to earth.”  
“I’m right here!”

Everyone laughed except Enjolras but he couldn’t hide the small smile on his face.

“We were just telling Enjy that it’s actually possible we get along without him,” Courfeyrac explained and grinned as Enjolras rolled his eyes again.

“I see,” Grantaire chuckled, “It’s probably a nice change to have some space. Enjolras didn’t mention you’re a couple.”

Combeferre blushed slightly and Courfeyrac was suddenly very busy staring everywhere except the camera.

This time Enjolras laughed. “Cause they aren’t.”

“Well… actually…,” Courfeyrac started and Enjolras’ expression changed from amusement to utter surprise within less than a second. “What?!”

“Ehm,” was the intelligent answer and eventually Combeferre seemed to have enough and sighed, “We were going to tell you when you came back.” He took Courfeyrac’s hand who started grinning happily.

“What?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, “I’ve known them for over 15 years. How could you know and I don’t?”

 

“Because you have the emotional range of a lobster Enjolras!”

“Courf,” Combeferre calmingly put his hand on the other man’s arm, “Don’t insult the lobsters.”

Enjolras eyes widened and a second later he broke out into laughter and all the tension was gone immediately.

 

They talked and talked and Grantaire didn’t realize how the time flew by.

 

Courfeyrac was totally crazy but the good kind, absolutely charming and all in all like happy bundle of sunshine while Combeferre was calmer but not reverent. He was quick-witted and his dimples made him even more likable.

When they finally said goodbye it had been dark outside for hours.

 

“They’re great,” Grantaire said when Enjolras closed the laptop.

“I’m glad you like them.”

“Yeah, well… I better get going,” he suddenly realized they were alone again and he couldn’t come up with an excuse why he had showed up in the first place.

“Come on Grantaire, it’s in the middle of the night.”

It wasn’t like the explicit stay from the last time but close enough to make him stutter. “Okay…uhm. If you say so… uhm… I’ll take the couch.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I thought we were over this. You’re not going to sleep on the couch.” He was already heading to the bedroom.

Grantaire followed him slowly, taking off his hoodie and hung it over Enjolras’ desk chair before he settled down on the right side of the bed. They didn’t say anything as he slipped under the blanket and Enjolras turned the lights off. He could feel him breathing next to him.

 

He wouldn’t get one minute of sleep tonight.

 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras only whispered after some seconds or an hour.

He couldn’t see his face in the dark.  
“What?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can you promise not to say something whatever I’m going to do next?”

“Okay,” he simply said because it was kind of hard to breathe with his heart hammering in his chest like that as a hand tenderly came to rest on his arm, slowly wandering over his chest, shoulders and neck and eventually stopped at his lips.

 

He felt Enjolras shifting and then the fingers were gone and replaced by soft lips.

The kiss was gentle and short and yet warmth flooded through his entire body and Grantaire’s heart was beating that Enjolras had to hear it but none of them said a word until Enjolras had fallen asleep next to him and his regular breathing was the only sound in the dark.

 

***

 

 


	3. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I didn’t plan this. I didn’t expected you to come around and suddenly confuse everything, me. It’s just that I never felt like that and god, I have no idea how to deal with it or what this is going to be.”_   
> _“This,” Grantaire started, “is going to be everything you want it to be.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I am so sorry, I had the most terrible writer's block ever. You just sit there and you can't think of anything to write and it's just like...damn. But guess what, I started my vacation in France yesterday and boom, I have so many ideas plus time plus my notebook and it's heaven.  
> So I'm sorry for letting you all wait so long but here's the last chapter, I hope you like it. <3  
> I am sorry for mistakes but I'm not sorry for my weakness for Parnasse. ;)

 

 

He didn’t know how but he had fallen asleep anyway at some point. So the third time he woke up next to Enjolras was as the blonde jumped up and immediately stumbled out of the bed.

“Oh my god, it’s so late, I’m sorry...I’m...I’m going to be late.”

Grantaire was slowly waking up and realized the other man was starting to collect some clothes and then rushed off into the kitchen. He stood up as fast as possible and followed him still in a state of doze.

Enjolras couldn’t be leaving again this time, not after what had happened even though he didn’t know what to say, what to do, but he didn’t care. He was confused and just done and...

 

“Enjolras?”

“I’m sorry R, I’m missing my lecture, I...”

“You’re wearing my hoodie again.”

 

The blonde stopped in his movements.

He had slipped into the green pullover again obviously without noticing.                 

 

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Grantaire echoed.

Enjolras bit down his lip and didn’t say anything.

“God, Enjolras. You can’t just...,” he started and screw it, “You can’t almost kiss someone and then kiss someone and run away every time and never even mention it. I don’t know...Why do you do this? I mean why do you do this to _me_. What do you want?” He was well aware of how desperate he sounded.

“Well,” the other man didn’t sound any less desperate, ”I could dramatically say _you_ now because...you.”

 

Grantaire blinked.

Once.

Twice.

 

“What the actual fuck, Enjolras?”

 

“I told you I’m sorry I mean I’m not sorry for kissing you, of course not. I wanted to kiss you.”

“You wanted to kiss me?”

“Yes! I’m just sorry because I’m not good with... feelings.” He made vague gesture to the space between them.

“Feelings?” Grantaire parroted and god damn, he had to stop doing that.

“Yes, feelings. Damn, Grantaire,” the fierce gaze was back in his eyes and this was at least more familiar territory as if they were having an argument about politics or Nietzsche or something else, “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t expected _you_ to come around and suddenly confuse everything. Me. It’s just that I never felt like that and god, I have no idea how to deal with it or what this is going to be.”

“This,” Grantaire started, “is going to be everything you want it to be.”

He just stood there, waiting, hoping.

 

And Enjolras looked at him with his eyes widening and a second that felt like eternity passed before he crossed the distance between them and kissed him again, all the reluctance and tenderness forgotten.

The kiss was so much more like Enjolras himself, forceful and passionate. He slung his arms around Grantaire’s neck, burying his hands in this wild black curls and Grantaire pulled him even closer, body pressed against body, every centimetre a waste of space.

Now that he was actually kissing _Enjolras_ , feeling these lips he had always watched speaking on his, feeling these slender fingers running through his hair, he wasn’t able to imagine doing anything else ever again.

Even as they broke apart for air, breathing heavily, he only wanted to kiss him again, kiss him again until the world ended so he could die happily.

He reluctantly opened his eyes just to see Enjolras lips red and slightly parted. They were so close he could have counted the tiny freckles on the tip of his nose or the unusually dark lashes. They could look into each others eyes and Enjolras’ were like the sky, wide, bright and so blue. It took some moments until he realized how hard he was clenching his hands in his own hoodie that the blonde man was wearing and relaxed with a shaky breath.

Enjolras kissed him again, gently but all the innocence was gone as he felt him tugging at the hem of his shirt purposefully. He gaped into his mouth and could feel the other man’s smile.

They broke apart again so his shirt could land on the floor followed by Enjolras’ (Grantaire’s) pullover.

It was kind of  difficult to concentrate on the sight of a shirtless Enjolras in his arms when he was dropping kisses along his jaw line and…

“Oh my god, you’re such a cliché!” He traced the small black letters on the other man’s hip.

 

_Liberté Egalité Fraternité_

“Shut up.”

“Bossy, hm?” Grantaire chocked out because Enjolras hands were really distracting wandering lower and his breath ghosting over his neck.  
“I can stop if you want me to,” he simply said, his lips only millimetres from his skin and Grantaire had to suppress a whimper.  
“No need for that,” he chocked out and this time he could bite back the noise that came from his mouth as Enjolras kissed a very sensitive spot right over his collarbone.

“Bedroom?” the blonde suggested.

“Bedroom.”

 

They were more stumbling then walking cause no one was willing to let go.

 

 

***

 

 

“I missed my lecture.”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

 

 

***

 

 

“No,” Enjolras mumbled and slung an arm around Grantaire’s waist to keep him from standing up. He had to laugh and ran his hand through the golden curls. “As much as I’d love to stay in bed the whole day...”

“Just do it.”

He laughed again and kissed the other man’s forehead, “Enjolras, I’m starving.”

“You can starve later.”

“You’re such a bad host.”

Enjolras rolled around so he could rest on Grantaire’s chest and looked up to him with his big blue eyes. “Am I?” he asked with a small smile and before he could answer he had surged forward to press a tender kiss on his lips.

“Maybe not that bad,” he could only admit weakly.

 

They’d spent the entire morning and afternoon just lying in the bed, sleeping, kissing, cuddling, actually _cuddling_ , he wouldn’t have taken Enjolras for the cuddling type – only when he was drunk but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He didn’t know what time it was but the sun wasn’t shining into the window anymore and he was damn hungry.

Enjolras deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to his cheek, his teeth nipping gently on Grantaire’s lower lip and he never wanted this to end.

They broke apart as the sound stomach grumbling filled the air and Grantaire had to laugh while Enjolras just let go of him and fell on his back with a frustrated noise as he stood up searching for something to wear from the clothes sprawled all over the way to the kitchen.

 

He couldn’t stop grinning.

 

“Do you have something edible,” he called as he opened the almost empty fridge, “Anywhere maybe?”

Enjolras tapped into the room drowsily wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and ran a hand through his hair what didn’t help his curls looking any less unruly.

 

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?” he asked confused but Grantaire just shook his head still grinning like an idiot and put some flour and milk he had found into a bowl.

“What are you doing?”                                                  

“Breakfast,” he answered and cracked an egg. When he looked up he found Enjolras smiling at him. “It’s like four in the afternoon, R.”

“Well, I hadn’t had breakfast today.”

Enjolras laughed and every time he laughed it was like the sun lightened up the room. He sat down on the counter and spent the time Grantaire tried to produce something close to pancakes with the rare content of the fridge with being incredibly distracting by doing nothing but watching him.

When he handed him the first finished pancake on a plate with (and thanks to Cosette there was at least something more than you needed just to survive) lemon juice and sugar and Enjolras made a sound of pleasure it was _really_ hard to control himself.

“You’re doing it on purpose, don’t you?”

He looked at him innocently, “I don’t what you’re talking about,” he simply said and licked some sugar from his thumb.

 

Alright, who needed self control anyway?      

 

He surged forward to capture Enjolras’ lips with his and had at least enough consciousness to put the pan from the stove so he could bring his hands up to rest on an Enjolras cheeks while the blonde man slung his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist while he was grinning into the kiss.

“You’re such a tease,” Grantaire mumbled between kisses.

“You like me anyway.”

His only answer was to kiss him again, passionately, tongue tasting deep, tasting sugar and lemon and the never ending sensation of Enjolras’ lips on his. His heart was hammering in his chest but it felt right. _Everything_ felt right when it was just him and Enjolras because nothing else mattered.

 

“Oh my...I am _so_ sorry,”         

 

They broke apart and Grantaire would have flinched if Enjolras hadn’t been holding him close at the hem of his shirt.

Marius was red like a tomato and didn’t really seemed to know what he should do, then he decided on doing some awkward waving with his hands before turning around. “I just...ehm.”

“Marius? What’s wrong?” Cosette’s voice interrupted him and Marius tried to hold her back as she walked around the corner.

Grantaire could feel Enjolras laughing silently with his head buried in the crook of his neck and he cleared his throat trying to contain at least some dignity but he probably wasn’t really convincing as he casually said, “Good afternoon.”

Cosette beamed while Marius was still busy to not look into their direction.

“Good afternoon indeed,” she grinned, “We were just popping by to see if everything’s okay because Jehan was a little bit worried you didn’t show up but well...,” she looked pointy at Enjolras who rested his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder, “You look fine to me.”

“So we’ll just leave again okay? Okay. ” Marius shoved her out of the apartment as fast as possible. They only heard Cosette calling, “Not in the kitchen!” before the door fell shut.

Grantaire let his head fall on Enjolras’ chest breathing out a not too convinced laughter. “God, that was embarrassing.”

 

Enjolras just laughed and ran his fingers tenderly through Grantaires’ dark curls.

 

 

***

 

 

“I am terribly sorry that I am not sorry,” he said as soon as he opened the door to their apartment. Jehan sat on the carpet, a pen tugged behind his right ear. Am old book in his lap and Sir Arthur sitting on his left shoulder.

The poet looked up, a scolding expression on his face that was defused by the gentle smile. “I forgive you,” he said softly and bowed his head carefully so that the lizard couldn’t fall of his shoulder, “I wasn’t that concerned, you know. I didn’t really think Enjolras killed you. But I do was concerned that you would lie in some alley because you drank yourself to death but I considered the chances 90 to 10,” he shrugged with one shoulder, “I am an optimist.”

Grantaire sat down on the sofa, “90 to 10?”

Jehan winked, “Enjolras and you have more in common than you think. Stubbornness and being oblivious are just two amongst others.”

Grantaire leaned back feeling the grin he couldn’t suppress again, “Really?”

“God look at you,” Jehan laughed, “You are so in love, it’s written all over your face.”

“Well, I am,” he confirmed with a mixture of disbelief and happiness, “I am an he…” he stopped again and laughed because _Enjolras liked him back_ and all his wit and repartee he usually was so proud of was lost because it was still too much, too unbelievable.

When he looked at Jehan again he still smiled, “It’s good to see you happy.”

 

And suddenly he felt his heart dropping in his chest.

Yes, he was happy.

 

He had been happy the entire time he had spent with Enjolras in this bed but as much as they wanted to stay in bed forever he had to stand up at some point and as much as he wanted Enjolras to stay forever in London he had to leave sooner or later and he would be going back, back to Paris, back to his wonderful friends and Grantaire would stay behind and if he had thought it would be hard to forget Enjolras before that day he couldn’t imagine it now even less, he wouldn’t be able to forget Enjolras’ lips on his, the way blue eyes looked at him when they were widened, how their bodies fit together, the way he had called out his name and he wouldn’t be able to forget how he kissed him afterwards, tenderly and _loving_.

Jehan who had seemed o follow his track of thoughts took the lizard from his shoulder and joined him on the sofa, huddling up against him.

“You know what?” he asked softly and leaned on Grantaire’s shoulder, “Everything has it’s time. We just have to do the best of the time that is given to us.”

 

 

***

 

 

Grantaire gave his best, he really did.

They hadn’t talked about where they stood no, what exactly it was between them so when Enjolras came to the soup kitchen the next day wearing Grantaire’s hoodie, a visible hickey on the perfect skin of his neck and went straight to Grantaire to kiss him in front of everyone he still wasn’t able to feel as happy as he should have.

 

 

***

 

 

He suppressed the thought of anything that would happen after Enjolras leaving and soon he suppressed the entire fact that Enjolras was leaving at all. It was more effective than thinking of the time they’d spent together as the sand in an hourglass that was running off. It was much easier because Enjolras never mentioned it as well and so they were spending the days just like any other couple just without talking about their future or in general talking about them as such.

Grantaire showed him all his favourite places in the city when he picked Enjolras up from a lecture with a cup of coffee and a tea for himself. They walked along the riverside of the Thames holding hands, they even kissed in the rain on Enjolras doorstep before the other man invited him to stay and have incredible sex because he would never get used to feeling Enjolras as close as possible ad every morning he would stand up to make pancakes – or crepes how Enjolras would insist – but only after he had watched the blonde man sleeping between white sheets, looking peaceful, content and beautiful like an angel that had find his mysterious, inexplicable way to earth.

 

But the sign of the inevitable end of the term became more frequent.

 

Enjolras was busy studying for his exams and so was Grantaire and sometime they just fell asleep at 8 pm, while watching a movie or Enjolras just didn’t show a sign of life for two days because he had forgotten to sleep, to eat and the time in general over studying.

Once Grantaire saw a calendar on the desk as Enjolras was taking a shower and spotted the simple word BACK on a day in three weeks. It took one week for Enjolras to say in the middle of a conversation, “I’m leaving in two weeks.”

And Grantaire just nodded and went on where they’d stopped.

He was a coward and he knew it.

 

But he was still not able to anything about it because he was too afraid of what would happen when they said goodbye.

 

 

***

 

 

Jehan had organized a farewell party for Enjolras the day before he left in their flat that actually just consisted of Feuilly telling embarrassing stories about everyone else and starting to laugh before even coming to an end. Cosette made the most delicious pizza and Jehan was trying to bring Enjolras to sing a song in French. It took almost half an hour before the blonde man gave in.

Éponine clapped and the other joined in as he took Jehan’s old guitar and settled down on the floor next to Grantaire.

“My parents wanted me to play the piano. But I took the money to…,” he pause and his cheeks reddened, “well, I gave the money to a street musician who taught me to play guitar a little bit.”

Everyone chuckled and Grantaire smiled. Of course.

Enjolras pushed a golden curl out of his eyes and started to sing accompanied by the soft music of the guitar.

 

 

“ _Bonsoir mes amis_  
Il est temps que je m'en aille  
Ce qui me reste à vous dire  
Ne dure qu'une cigarette  
Et le temps d'un dernier verre.”

 

 

As he sang – and he sang like the goddamn angel he was – it hit Grantaire like a crushing wave.

He was going to be gone tomorrow.

He was going to be gone and he was going to leave Grantaire behind with his heart broken into pieces because he loved him.

It wasn’t just a crush, he wasn’t just _in love_ , he loved Enjolras and as soon as he admitted it to himself he knew that he always had, that there had never been another option for him since the very first moment.

 

Enjolras sang and Grantaire listened until the song ended.

 

He looked up from the guitar a little bit shy but everyone cheered, Jehan wiped a tear from his eye and as Enjolras turned to him he managed to crack a smile.

As soon as everyone was talking and laughing and drinking again Grantaire waited for the right moment to get out of the apartment. Enjolras was in a conversation with Feuilly, Jehan braided Éponine’s hair and Marius and Cosette were getting the leftover pizza from the kitchen when he finally slipped out of the door.

No one noticed.

 

 

***

 

 

He was greeted by a raised eyebrow as Montparnasse opened the door.

“You are aware of the fact that it’s in the middle of the night?”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Grantaire snapped and rushed past him.

Parnasse held him back by grabbing his arm firmly.

“R?”

He didn’t answer and looked to the ground.

“Don’t you do anything stupid.”

He sighed and eventually Grantaire looked up to meet the other man’s gaze of the dark eyes in the dim light of the floor. “I just need some time to be alone, okay?”

Montparnasse nodded and let go of his arm, “Just don’t accidently fall off the roof, okay? It’d be gross to clean up the pieces from the pavement,” he said and then he left him in the dark hallway.

 

 

***

 

 

The night was unusually calm as if even the city was mourning Enjolras’ departure and tried to comfort him with empathy. Maybe he had already sat on the roof for hours but it didn’t feel like the time passed at all. So when the attic window opened he just snapped, “God, go away Parnasse, I won’t jump.”

“I hope so,” another voice answered but it surely wasn’t Montparnasse’s.

Grantaire closed his eyes for a second before he turned to face Enjolras. “What are you doing here?”

“You left,” he stated and sat down next to him.

“You left too and it’s your party.”

Enjolras sighed. “Why did you leave?”

“Sometimes we need a little time for ourselves,” he shrugged, “but how did you know where I am? Do you have any psychic powers I don’t know of?”

“Well,” Enjolras started and frowned, “I don’t but when you were gone no one knew where you were, we tried to phone you but you didn’t answer and then Parnasse called me.”

“What?”`

“He called me and told me you were here.”

“How the fuck did Parnasse got your number?”

He seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he said confused, “I don’t know actually.”

Grantaire laughed, at least he tried. It somehow sounded hollow, “Maybe it’s better we don’t.”

 

They sat there in silence looking over the light of London in the night.

 

“We have to talk,” Enjolras said seriously staring at some point in the distance, “about us.”

Grantaire didn’t look at him, “Then talk.”

Some seconds passed before Enjolras started to speak again just to say, “Look R, I’m not good at this relationship stuff,” and Grantaire fisted his hand in the fabric of the pocket of his jeans, tried to keep his voice steady, tried to dissemble his feelings.

“It’s alright. Really, I’m not either.”

A pause.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “Well, we had quite a nice, no, great time together.”

Silence.

The distant sound of cars.

“Sure.”

“And now you’re going to be in Paris again.”

“And you live here.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

And that was it.

  
Grantaire didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t beg. He just felt empty.

It’s not that he had actually expected anything else. He had thought of the different scenarios of this conversation and they’d all ended with Enjolras saying something similar so he had try to prevent it beforehand but now that it was over it didn’t make him feel any better, he didn’t feel like he was prepared, it still hurt. It hurt so badly.

 

Enjolras started to climb black down. When only his head looked out of the window he turned to Grantaire, a questioning look in his big blue eyes.

“Aren’t you coming?”

For the first time Grantaire looked back at him. He seemed tired. Tired as Grantaire felt but nothing else but beautiful.

“Why?”

Enjolras cracked a smile, “I still got one night left, right?”

And Grantaire followed him.

 

***

 

It felt like a dream when Enjolras kissed him slowly, longingly, with an intensity he had never had before and Grantaire already missed him. It felt like they were miles apart so they tried to be as close as possible, trying to remember every inch of skin when they made love because that was what it felt like. A dream wherein Enjolras laid next to him, resting his head on his slowly rising and falling chest, saying just as a whisper, “Please don’t.”

And he was confused but he said it again.

“Please don’t end this.”

 

“What?”

 

Enjolras sat up to look at Grantaire with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want this to end.”

 

His dreams were cruel.

 

He sat up as well to face the blonde and to reach out for him before he decided against it and the movement of his hands turned into a helpless gesture.

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“Then let me explain,” he said and his voice sounded so different from all he had heard before, pleading somehow, desperate almost.

“Then explain,” he chocked out because this dream made him become hopeful and it hurt.

The look in the other man’s face turned into the more familiar determination again.

“I told you I’m not very good when it comes to feelings, relationships and all that. It’s just that I never felt like I would need any of this, I really never wanted any of this but then,” he laughed nervously and looked so, so young all sudden, “well, you came along. And I know you said you’re not a guy for relationships either and we should keep it at the time we had together and I know how I can be. And I thought I could leave it there if that’s what you want but I can’t. I want to try it at least, I want to give _us_ a try and before you say no,” he took a deep breath, “what I actually wanted to say is that I’m ridiculously in love with you so please don’t say no.”

It was the wave of incredulity and relief that made Grantaire forget all his words and just surge forward to kiss Enjolras hoping it would be answer enough.

“Is that a yes?” he mumbled at his lips when they parted just to have enough space to breathe.

“You’re an idiot.” He brought his hands up to cup Enjolras face, this beautiful, angelic face and looked firmly into deep blue eyes bright like diamonds and said, “I love you.”

 

And Enjolras’ smile was everything he needed in response.

 

 

***

 

 

“I mean it’s Paris, it’s not that far.”

“Yeah, didn’t they make this shiny new train under the sea?”

“It’s even less than an hour with the plane as well.”

“Could be worse.”

 

“I’m going to miss you,” Enjolras eventually said as they were standing at the airport in front of the security check where Grantaire wouldn’t be able to go with him.

But he smiled, “I will probably miss you so much I even have to visit you in your poor assumption of a country.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the other man frowned but he shut him up with a soft kiss.

“It just means that I am going to miss you very, very much.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, smiled and kissed him again, then he slung arms around his neck to hold him tightly and Grantaire didn’t want to let him go even though he knew he had to. At least it was just for now. It wasn’t a goodbye forever like he had imagined so many times but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt and that didn’t mean it was much easier.

“I have to go,” Enjolras finally mumbled at the crock of his neck.

“I know.”

Eventually they let go of each other and the blonde man took his bag. He smiled encouragingly but Grantaire could see that he wasn’t doing much better than himself.

 

“Goodbye Enjolras.”

“Goodbye Grantaire,” he said and finally let go of his hand.

 

Grantaire eyes followed him as long as possible and in the last moment Enjolras looked over his shoulder, waved at him and smiled again.

He waved back and returned the smile without hesitation.

 

At least there was a good in goodbye. 

 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, come and say [ hi on tumblr](http://sky-blue-thoughts.tumblr.com/)  
> I think I really like this story. Maybe I'm going to write a sequel. Anyone interested? :D


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